


Plant your trees

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Compliant Battle of Five Armies, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and his memories, throughout the years.</p>
<p>BoFA spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plant your trees

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw BoFA this weekend and it broke my heart, so I wrote this little ficlet. It's short and simple, but I hope somebody enjoys it. Please do not hate me if you think it's terrible - it is my first work in this fandom.
> 
> BEWARE: If you haven't seen Battle of Five Armies, do not read it if you don't care for spoilers!

 

 

It takes three years for him to plant the acorn.

 *

 Many years after the great battle, Bilbo Baggins wakes up to the sound of rain pattering heavily on the windowsill. Rarely do such great downpours come a-visit to the Shire, and a good thing it is, for it would be a catastrophe in the long term: Hobbit holes are not in the least built for rainy conditions. Rare as the situation is, Bilbo is soon up and about, putting rags by the window and doors before any unwanted water finds its way through unseen creaks in the wood: like all Hobbits, or likely more than most, he knows to be prepared for any and all eventualities.

'Uncle Bilbo, why does it rain?' Young Frodo asks at breakfast. It has been but a few months since Bilbo has taken the lad in, but he has not regretted that decision once since. Bright in the mind and swift on his feet, the child reminds him of himself, in a way, of his youth and the desire to go on an unforgettable adventure.

He's had that desire fulfilled now. Seeing it reflected in another brings him peace and sorrow at once. Memories well up and threaten to overflow.

Rain brings about a sense of nostalgia.

'Well, my boy,' he stalls with an answer, because there are so many he could choose. He could go with Elven songs, poetic and beautiful, but inaccurate and unbelievable, or he could attempt to repeat the vaguely scientific explanation Gandalf has once used to reply to the very same question a young Bilbo asked back when he was still in his child, innocent years.

Then he thinks of battlefields and darkening skies, of loss and acorns.

'Well, my boy,' he repeats and chances a small smile, both to his nephew and to the memories he will never cease to carry with him. 'Rain exists so that trees could grow tall and strong. So that we can one day look at them, hidden comfortably from too dire a summer sunlight in their mighty shade, and think fondly of the rainy season that has contributed to the growth of trees and everything that is green and good alike.'

'The oak in our backyard will be like that one day?' Frodo asks hopefully, probably already imagining a great tree with thick branches, one of which could easily sport a swing just like the one at the Gamgees' yard.

'Yes, my lad,' Bilbo says.

 *

 Of all of the treasures and little things he brought home, Bilbo covets the acorn the most. Even the Ring lays forgotten in a drawer; for all it has once been so precious, right now Bilbo is unable to muster in himself any enthusiasm for the old trinket. Maybe he is still preoccupied with the events of the last weeks, freshly returned to Bag End as he is; maybe the deaths of Fili, Kili, Thorin - are too painful for anything to console him yet; maybe he has not yet learned to forget the bad and cherish the good. 

The acorn, he thinks, is both. For it is a lie, a diversion he used to hide his betrayal from Thorin – for his own good, he believed, as the Dwarven King had been so influenced by the Dragon's sickness he could not stand to see reason – yet it is also a ray of hope, a symbol of caring.

_Go home, plant your trees and watch them grow_ , Thorin had told him.

The acorn rests in the palm of his hand comfortably, a memory and a remainder. He knows he should plant it, he should – but he cannot, because the moment he does, the moment it is buried in the ground, so are they, and he has no choice but to acknowledge and accept this. The moment the acorn is gone from within his grasp, so are they.

So is he.

_Plant your trees,_ Thorin had said, caring in his last moments not for the kingdom he was leaving behind, not for the treasures and power, but for the little Hobbit burglar and his acorn. What a silly thing to cherish!

It's but a regular acorn, not unlike ones that Bilbo could find anywhere, yet this one is the most special of his treasures. A memento of treachery and loss. A symbol of what he had done, but also a symbol of what Thorin found dear in his last moments.

_To me, he was,_ he told the Dwarves and never found the words to explain.

One day, he knows he will find it in himself to plant the acorn. One day, he knows he will find the courage to live on. One day.

But not yet.

 *

 In time, some of the memories dim and fade, suppressed by the influence of the Ring, by the hold it gains on his heart and mind. Bilbo doesn't realize. He writes his book and finds his eyes do not water anymore when he recalls the events that used to fill him with grief.

He supposes he has finally moved on.

The oak tree grows strong in the backyard. Soon, it will be tall and thick enough to install a swing on one of its branches. Hopefully, Gandalf will be around to help with the task. Surely, nobody would expect from a Hobbit to readily climb trees like a squirrel, but that is no reason to rob Frodo of his joy.

 *

 A hundred and eleven years is a long time to live.

As Bilbo walks the path which never stopped being familiar to him, he remembers the good and the bad, the joyful and sorrowful events of the life he has lived and it doesn't cease to amaze him that so much should happen to one little Hobbit.

He hums the tunes the Dwarven Company taught him. He hasn't done that in too long a time. He wishes he had taught them to Frodo, but alas, it is too late now. Best not to dwell on what cannot be changed. He has enough regrets not to add another to the pile.

He passes the three stony trolls and laughs softly to himself as he recalls the indignation with which the Dwarven company reacted to his attempts at dissuading the trolls from eating all of them. Oh, their faces were so precious! It's all so clear and close, the memories within reach for the first time in so many years.

No longer does he have the Ring with him, and it is like a veil has been lifted from his eyes and his heart. Once more, he is filled with longing and restlessness. The journey is equal parts cheerful and painful, and all the more precious for it.

He makes it to Rivendell after so much longer than he remembers. He is old now, no longer the fit and swift burglar he used to be in youth. Despite the way their last meeting went, Lord Elrond is quick to welcome him in his home and offer him peace. Bilbo remembers his last visit here and writes ferociously, discovering that so much is missing from the earlier recollection he has already written down back in Bag End.

He had been robbed of so much, but now it is coming back.

He eventually pushes forward. He really had the intention to follow the steps of his first adventure, but he finds he cannot. Not only do his old feet not allow it, but neither does his heart. The paths he would have to take all eventually lead to Erebor, and Erebor is that one place he could not stand to see, for he has but so few happy memories of the Lonely Mountain and all of them are clouded by the memory of loss. He journeys to Dale, where he is welcomed as a great friend, before he comes back to the Elven kingdom. He doesn't leave again.

He eventually finishes the book.

_And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days_ , he writes on the last page, a lie and a truth at once. It's a story and so it should end well, he believes firmly. There's enough sadness in the world. It would not do to put it in a book, which should give the reader some relief from the harshness in real life.

He thinks of Thorin and wonders if at those last moments, the Dwarven King was happy. After having seen so much loss, after having been hurt so, could he have been happy? His nephews both lost, lives of many of his kin taken, but his home has finally been reclaimed and his long time enemy – defeated. Was there happiness within him when he spoke to Bilbo one last time, when his eyes rested on the Hobbit and when the last light left them for eternity?

To the Dwarves, Thorin became a legend. To Bilbo, he is...

_To me, he was..._

Over sixty years and a written book later, Bilbo still doesn't have the words.

 *

 The Grey Havens, they call the port, and Bilbo, lost in his own memories as he is, still is able to appreciate the beauty of the place no mortal eyes have likely seen before. He smiles as he thinks of a book he could write, describing his time in Rivendell and the journey to this place. Maybe he will do it yet. From what he understands, he has all the time in the world.

Gandalf comes and smiles at him with the same familiar kindness he has always shown to the Hobbit. Bilbo returns the smile and is surprised when Gandalf puts something in his hand, then closed his fingers around the object and pats them.

'I picked it up last Autumn in your garden,' the Wizard says gently and Bilbo smiles or weeps, or both.

An acorn rests in the palm of Bilbo's hand.

He clutches it tightly as he greets Frodo. He never lets it go as he boards the Elven ship and sets out for another journey – his final journey.

_Plant your trees and watch them grow,_ Thorin told him many decades ago.

_I will_ , Bilbo promises the memory of Thorin Oakenshielf, whom he now knows to call what he really was - his beloved.

And maybe, just maybe, he lives happily ever after, to the end of his days, shall it come.

 


End file.
